


The Dawn and the Night Sky

by oyakodon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Cosmogony (Final Fantasy XV), Cosmogony Zine (Final Fantasy XV), Emotional Hurt, Experimental Style, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Ignis Scientia-centric, Ignis grieves, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Worldbuilding, what else is there to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyakodon/pseuds/oyakodon
Summary: “The fifth year, huh,” says Gladio.“The fifth year,” repeats Ignis, and something ugly spreads inside him like a disease.It’s been five years.Ignis struggles to come to terms with his King’s death even five years after the Dawn returns to Eos.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	The Dawn and the Night Sky

“…and the True King banished the Darkness once and for all, returning Light to Eos,” Ignis speaks into the recorder in his hands. “The King made—” he continues, but the words catch in his throat. He pauses the recorder.

It’s silent in his study now, except for the tick-tock of the wall clock. Ignis takes a few deep breaths. _It’s alright, you’re alright,_ he tells himself.

Once he feels grounded enough, he returns to the task at hand, turning the recorder back on. “The King,” he starts over, “made one final sacrifice. He gave his life for his people, for the future of Eos. His sacrifice opened a new era; we call it the Dawn of a New Age.” He switches off the recorder. Is there something else he should add? How much time does he have left before he has to depart for—

A sound at the door, a scraping noise on the floor. Those steps… “Prompto?”

“Ah, sorry Ignis,” comes Prompto’s response. “Whatcha doin’? Were you recording something?”

“Nothing of importance,” he replies.

“Don’t be like that,” says Prompto. Ignis hears the accusation in his voice. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you with that thing.”

The recorder in his hand feels cold and heavy, as if it wants to say, _Look at you, caught red-handed._

“C’mon, Iggy.”

He swallows down the tightness in his throat. “I’ve been compiling data about times past.”

“So…” comes another voice from the direction of the door, “is that what you’ve been poring over all this time? Why didn’t ya tell us?” that voice demands.

“Hello to you too, Gladio,” Ignis says. Gladio only grunts in response. It’s his way of urging Ignis on to spill it out already.

Ignis yields. “People believe in the Cosmogony still, but its current iteration is incomplete and riddled with fallacies. It’s time for a revised Cosmogony. And…”

“And?”

 _And_ he wants future generations to understand how much Noct means— _meant_ —to the people of Lucis. To all of them. He hesitates. “And nothing. That’s it.”

Prompto doesn’t appear satisfied with his answer. “Why do it all alone? You could’ve asked for help!”

He puts the recorder down and stands from his seat, turning his back to them. “I never thought to ask. Simple as that,” he lies. He’s thought about it a hundred times. But would he make them read documents after documents about the history of the Lucii, of _Noct_ , when it takes all their effort to just cope and grieve? He steers the topic away, “More importantly, shouldn’t we be on our way?”

A beat passes. For a moment he fears they will press on, and imagines how they are exchanging knowing glances, but then, “Right, let’s get moving,” says Gladio. After a slight pause, he adds, “The fifth year, huh.”

“The fifth year,” repeats Ignis, and something ugly spreads inside him like a disease.

It’s been five years.

As they walk through the halls of the Citadel on their way to the parking garage, Prompto blurts, his curiosity finally getting the better of him, “C’mon Iggy, tell us whatcha writing!” 

He sighs, then says, “Next up is the last chapter.” There’s still a number of chapters missing, though. When he’d made the decision to revise the Cosmogony it had sounded easy in theory. A little something to guide the future generation, a little something in honor of _him_.

Why is it so hard to ask for help?

“The last chapter of a new Cosmogony, huh,” says Gladio. “Sounds epic to me. What’s it gonna be about?”

Another sigh leaves his lips. “I’ve been meaning to write about…today. About the festivities and their significance, but…”

“What’s stopping you, then? Tell us all about it!” urges Prompto.

Gladio adds, “Yeah, maybe talkin’ about it helps?”

Ignis hums. Perhaps it _is_ time to share this with them, and perhaps he _will_ ask for their help after all.

“Ah well,” he says, clearing his throat, as they climb into the car and set off towards their destination. And just like this, he begins narrating,

“On the fifth anniversary of the Dawn, Insomnia was...”

*

On the fifth anniversary of the Dawn, Insomnia was awake earlier than even the sun. The Crown Citizens were out in the streets, the air still cold and the buzz of their conversation and laughter spilling over into every corner of the city. The night sky loomed over them, but it was not a cause for panic. No, it was reason to celebrate, to be grateful for what they had: their home, the promise of daylight. _Safety_. This was the prelude to a joyous day.

But to the former royal advisor and his two companions, it was only an annual reminder that their King was dead.

“I don’t think it was a good idea to go by car,” said one of his companions from behind the steering wheel—the once-best friend of their late King. “Look at this jam. Look at all these people!”

Well, being a blind man, he couldn’t _look_ , but with the windows down, he could hear _._ All the sounds around them made it easy to picture the scenery: the clog in the flow of traffic, the crowd of people traversing the sidewalks, the streetlights shining bright to guide them. Everyone was heading in the same direction; in his mind’s eye, it was quite a sight to behold.

The King’s former Shield appeared just as impressed. “Right,” he said from the back of the car, “each year it gets more crowded. Guess people are desperate to take part in the festivities.”

Indeed, it seemed as if every single soul on Eos wanted to see the tomb of the Chosen King this year. The former advisor— _former,_ as there was no king to advise anymore—wished he could share the enthusiasm; he didn’t feel ready to face his King yet.

He hadn’t been able to keep his promise.

It was the fifth anniversary, yet Insomnia was still a shadow of its former self. _“I leave it to you,”_ his King had told them, and thus the advisor had promised to himself: get as many citizens as possible to return to Insomnia, and have the electrical grids and waterlines repaired and operational by the first anniversary, re-install a self-sustaining agricultural system by the second, implement a new government capable of running the country by the third, fully resume trade with other Lucian regions and neighbor countries by the fourth—so that by the fifth anniversary the Crown City could be returned to its former glory. A present to his King who had loved Insomnia with all his heart.

How naïve he had been. He had failed his King. How could he face him now?

They arrived with plenty time until dawn.

Here, at the junction to Leide, across the bridge that connected Insomnia with the rest of Lucis, was a hill. To him, to the four of them, it was a place of shared meaning. They had watched their home burn from there, promising to return one day. And they had returned, eventually.

Here, at the resting place of their King and friend, the festivities took place.

Despite the still early hour, they were greeted by an onslaught of visitors. Car left behind at the side of the road, they weaved their way through the masses. The steady stream of citizens was radiating with so much devotion it was almost palpable.

“I met him fifteen years ago. He saved my team from a pack of sabertusks.”

“Me too. He helped me with a delivery. Such a kind young man.”

“Oh, I wish I could’ve met him just once!”

The Shield commented, “They’re all here for him.” The advisor could hear the smile in his voice.

The best friend hummed in agreement. “Yeah. And this whole place looks even prettier than last year.”

Despite his blindness, the magic of the place wasn’t lost to him. In the course of five years, the area had transformed from a pile of debris and abandoned ruins to a thriving settlement. It wasn’t only Insomnia the Lucians had returned to. Now after the daemons were no more, people felt courageous enough to build up new homes anywhere in Lucis, like this town. It was located right at the foot of the hill overlooking Insomnia and went by the name of New Ostium, but residents and visitors alike just called it the dawn village. It had started out with a few ramshackle huts, but had extended into a small town, with all buildings painted in white—the color of dawn. The advisor would have given almost anything to see it just once.

They began making their way up towards the top of the hill. His companions described how the place had changed in the past year: the trail was littered with even more stalls, greenery, and resting spots for pilgrims, although not much of it was visible on that day given the sheer number of visitors.

Somewhere close to them, a young girl said to her mother, “Mommy, I’m tired and my legs hurt!”

The mother tried to encourage her. “Remember how I told you how the sunrise will be very pretty?”

“But I wanna go back home and sleep! Why do we have to wake up so early?” The girl didn’t understand; she was younger than the Dawn.

“I told you, sweetie: to see off the night sky and greet the sun. So, don’t lose your lantern, alright? Or else the dawn won’t come.”

Her words reminded the advisor of the lantern in his own hand. He tightened his grip.

“It’s become a true festival, huh,” said the best friend.

“The Dawn Festival,” said the Shield. “See off the night sky and welcome the sunrise—very poetic.”

The not-advisor kept silent throughout their way up the hill.

The tomb sat right in the center at the top, no doubt looking majestic, magnificent. As the former Crownsguard, they earned the right to enter the tomb area that was still sealed off. The guards would open it up to the public to pay their respect after the sun had risen, but not before. For now, it would be just them.

They walked to the edge of the hill.

The best friend mumbled, “Buddy still has the best view ever here.”

The Shield grunted in agreement. “He can watch the Crown City’s rebuilding day in, day out.”

The advisor remained silent, biting his tongue. His King couldn’t watch the process. He was dead.

The passage of time hadn’t eased his grief, not on this day, not this year. There would always remain a part inside him that cursed the prophecy for forcing his oldest friend, a human just like anybody else, to act as a sacrificial lamb. For forcing _him_ to lead him to the slaughterhouse.

But the passage of time also showed him something different. From here he could see it: Insomnia recovering, flourishing again, changing into something new. This was their King’s legacy: a future free of prophecies, cursed bloodlines, and unjust sacrifice. Their future wasn’t dictated by the gods anymore, it was a new beginning for humankind—and it was their responsibility to see to the future so that their King could rest in peace...wherever he was right now. 

He walked towards where he knew the entrance to the tomb was and found the door, inserting his key. He entered, knowing his companions were right behind him. Hand to chest, he bowed to the grave. He knew what the headstone read by heart, as he had been the one to write it down.

It read,

_Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV, The True King of the prophecy_

_M.E. August 30, 735 — the Dawn_

_He gave Light to Eos. Although never given the chance to reign,_

_he shall forever rule in our hearts. His sacrifice will not be forgotten._

“Would’ve been a damn good king if you ask me,” said the Shield from beside him, his voice echoing throughout the stone walls of the tomb.

The best friend replied, “You say that every year.”

“Always mean it, too.”

The advisor hummed in agreement. This close to the ashes of his oldest and dearest friend, it was as if he were with them, watching over Lucis still.

It was predawn, and they returned to the edge of the hill, ready to see off the night sky. Just like last year and the year before that, the three of them would watch another sunrise together.

He asked his companions to describe the sky to him.

“The moon’s still up,” began the best friend. “It’s playing peek-a-boo with us, hiding behind a fluffy cloud. The sky’s starting to turn purple. But there’re so many stars, you won’t believe how many!”

The Shield added to this, “Yeah, it looks like a painting, with millions of stars dotting the canvas. It’s not only the sky, though. How the people look up at the tomb with pure devotion—they look like stars to me too. Some already have their lanterns lit.”

The advisor imagined the people. How they stood there, lantern in hand and filled with hope for the future. At that moment he understood that perhaps, everything was already how their King had wanted, that he would be happy with how far they had come. It wasn’t important that Insomnia wasn’t as grand as it was before. But what _was_ important was the people had their home back, that they were rebuilding and striving for a new future together.

He smiled as his companions talked him through every change in the sky, from the descent of the moon to the gradual tinging of the clouds into a violet, then pink, then orange, until—

“The sun, it’s almost here,” said the best friend. His voice sounded thin and quavering. “Won’t be much longer. Let’s light the lanterns.”

The advisor clutched at his lantern until his friends gave him the go-ahead to release it. They let the lanterns rise. Up, up, up into the night sky they loved.

The once-advisor didn’t see the sunrise, but he sensed its soft, invisible light. He sensed his King, he sensed his friend. “Goodnight,” he said.

Two bodies pressed close to him, offering warmth and comfort. It was a new day.

*

“…was…a…new…day,” Prompto repeats, as Ignis hears him scribble down his words. He’s sniffing noisily, and Ignis can’t help the guilt surging through him. 

“Have you gotten everything?” he asks.

“I think so!” Prompto replies, voice still shaky, then asks, “Uh, how do I spell ‘Ostium’?”

Gladio snorts; Ignis sighs.

“Well,” he says after they went through the draft a couple more times, “it seems this concludes the final chapter.”

Prompto says, “Let us help with the rest, too!”

Indeed, the Cosmogony is far from completed, but there’s time. He has his friends’ support now.

“Yeah, no reason to do it all on your own, Iggy,” adds Gladio, as if he can read his mind.

Ignis nods. He feels lighter than he has in a long time. “Thank you, Prompto, Gladio.”

_Thank you, Noct._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!  
> This story is a bit of an experiment and I hesitated to post this at all, but anyway, here it is! Feel free to let me know your opinion if you feel like it. :)
> 
> By the way, this story was written for the gorgeous Cosmogony project which explores the history and lore of Final Fantasy XV! Feel free to check it out on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/cosmogonyzine)
> 
> Also, shout-out to lovely [fayth (zanarkand)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanarkand/pseuds/fayth) and [Kitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune138/pseuds/Kitsune138) for beta-reading!
> 
> [tumblr](https://myoyakodon.tumblr.com/)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/oyashiran)  
> 


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